


From her grave a red rose grew

by malaguenas



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: Angst, Gen, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 13:23:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6196654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malaguenas/pseuds/malaguenas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander comes home to find his daughter Angelica, up waiting for her brother Phillip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From her grave a red rose grew

The sun had set what felt like hours ago. Alexander had been heading towards his carriage from his law office when he first noticed the dim sky, the lack of lighting straining his eyes slightly. He frowned slightly to himself. Another night gone by that he would leave Betsey alone with the children. And Phillip- their youngest- was still a newborn, and Angelica… He shook his head. At the very least, Alex was now 16 and always had the heart to help his mother, but the thoughts still persisted at the back of Alexander’s mind. He was her husband, and she deserved a more loyal one than he would ever be. How hard would it be for him to cut back his hours? To finally be home before the sun would set? He shoved the thoughts to the back of his head and stared out the window of the carriage, watching as the snow adorned scenery turned from cityscape to countryside.

Soon enough the carriage stopped outside the Grange. Alexander thanked the driver and stepped out, lap desk in hand. From outside he couldn’t see a single flicker of a candle; every one was already asleep. He opened the front door, turning to head straight to his office when he saw something out of the corner of his eye.

In the parlor he could see Angelica sitting at the piano, her long hair falling in messy ringlets down her back. He paused for a second, anxiety rushing through him. Phillip’s death had hit everyone in the family hard, but none so much as her. She adapted a certain kind of simplicity since the loss, her exquisite charm loosing its luster.

He made his way towards her, setting the lap desk on the green upholstery of the couch. “Angelica, my dear, it’s getting late.” Alexander sat down beside her, setting a gentle hand on her shoulder. She kept her gaze down at the ivory keys.

“I know,” She didn’t look up, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips, tired and sad. “I’m just waiting for Phillip to come home.”

Alexander stilled and he could feel a pain start in the back of his throat, hinting at tears.

“He told me we’d play his favorite song when he came back,” She continued. “’Dear Sister, when I return, our music will leave the whole of Manhattan dancing!’ He said.”

She often spoke like this, speaking of Phillip as if he were just out of town. Him and Betsey had tried to urge her out of it, but nothing was sticking with her except the belief of a returning brother, and her music.

Alexander swallowed hard. “It’s already so late my dear. Too late for a carriage to make the journey I’m afraid.” His voice was unsteady, threatening to betray him at any word. It was awful to lie to her like this, leading her onwards… but it brought her some sense of calm. He brought a hand to her chin, gently turning her face towards him. “How about we do a song of our own, and then head off to sleep? Do you remember the old Scottish tune I sang for you?”

Angelica nodded, smiling softly. “Will he come tomorrow?”

Alexander paused. “Anything is possible my dear.”

She must have taken that as enough this time and started playing the introduction of the piece, the notes filled to the brim with emotion.

Alexander closed his eyes, and begun to sing. “ _It was in and about the Martinmas time,_

_When the green leaves were a falling,_

_That Sir John Graeme in the west country,_

_Fell in love with Barbara Allan._

_O Hooly, hooly rose she up,_

_To the place where he was lying-_ “

“Alexander?”

Angelica stopped abruptly at the piano and his own eyes flicked open. Betsey was in the doorway, her pale blue nightgown bunched up where she had her hands around her waist. Her eyes were worried- something that had almost become a constant recently.

Alexander stood up rapidly. “Betsey! I’m sorry my dear, did we wake you?”

“Father-,” Angelica had just as quickly tugged on the sleeve of his frock coat. “I want to see Phillip.”

He looked to her, the tears finally threatening to well up in his eyes, and then to Betsey. Her lip was quivering, the hands wrapped around her waist had tightened. He swallowed, turning towards Angelica. “In time, my dear, in time. But first, you should get to sleep.”

She got up and he took her hand, leading her upstairs and into the room she shared with Eliza. Eliza was still asleep. Angelica climbed into bed, bringing the heavy wool comforter up to her chin.

“Goodnight my dear,” Alexander leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I wish you the best of dreams.”

“Will he be here in the morning?”

“Of course my dear,” His voice was unsteady and he could tell, he was on the brink of tears. “But you must sleep first.”

She nodded slightly and closed her eyes at last.

Betsey was already laying down in their own bed, and Alexander changed into his night clothes and joined her, wrapping his arms around her waist. For the first time all day, he let himself cry, the tears staining the back of her nightgown.

“I’m so sorry my love,” He whimpered quietly, and she turned around, wiping his tears and holding onto him as well, until the sun would rise in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place anytime between August 1802 (the earliest letter confirming Hamilton was living at the Grange was dated then) to obviously Hamilton's death in 1804. Probably Mid/late 1802 or 1803. 
> 
> This is just my perception of Angelica's state after Phillip's death. In the account in The Intimate Life of Alexander Hamilton it says that she spoke of her brother as if he were still alive so I went off of that. 
> 
> Also, historically, Angelica would play piano while her brother Phillip sang with her. Alexander did sing with her as well while she played the piano or the harp. 
> 
> The house layout is based off of what I know about the Hamilton Grange in Harlem (NYC). It's lovely. 
> 
> The song is Barbara Allen, an old Scottish song. It came about at the very earliest in 1666 and while James Hamilton probably didn't introduce young Hamilton to Scottish folk tunes, it existed at the time.


End file.
